


The Reason Why

by Ally_Cross



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 06:50:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ally_Cross/pseuds/Ally_Cross
Summary: When Sara begins to regret her career choice, it takes a grumpy, yet misunderstood patient to help remind why she chose this path in the first place.





	The Reason Why

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is an original work, I came up with the characters and scenario, so please do not repost or share without my permission.

She wasn't going to look.  Sara tried to focus on the list of patients in front of her.  However, the clock's constant ticking seemed to be mocking her, tempting her to look as the seconds counted down.  _Look at how much time have passed by._ It seemed to say.  _Surely, it's almost time to go home._ Sara put her head further down, determined to ignore it.  _Nope._ she thought, tapping her pen on the paper in an attempt to drown out the sound.  _You're not gonna get me this time._ She had already looked at the clock before and looking again would only remind her how painfully slow the day was going. 

Taking a deep breath, Sara started to write, jotting down what she had to do and listing the tasks off in her head. 

_Let's see.  I already did morning vitals and daily weights.  Now I have to do blood sugars._

Tick. 

_Then, I have to change the patients' bed sheets and give them bed baths._

Tick. 

_Then, I have to empty the caths on Mr. Henderson and Mrs. Fenwick in 13A and 16B and record the output._

Tick _._

She slammed the pen down on the table.  She couldn't take it anymore.  She looked at the clock.  _Crap._ she thought, her heart sinking.  The hands read 9:00.  Ten hours until she could go home and only five minutes from the last time she looked.  Now, each tick seemed to be laughing at her expense.  _We got you!  We got you!_ Sara pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ward off the growing headache.  She really wanted to give the clock the finger, but unfortunately, it wouldn't look professional, especially since it was conveniently hanging above the door to the nursing manager's office.

She looked at her list again and sighed.  So much had happened in two hours.  Ever since she had clocked in at 7:00 in the morning, it had been one disaster after another.  First, she had learned that Amy had called in sick, so there were only two PCAs on the floor today.  That meant a total of 16 patients was hers.  That also meant that the other PCA working today was Sean, who was one of the most incompetent and rudest people she ever had the displeasure of crossing paths with.  Because of him, it had taken twice as long as it usually did for her to get stuff done because he wouldn't hurry with the scale or the automatic vitals machine.  When he was finally finished at 8:20, he just handed them off to her with a sneer and walked away.  Then, Mr. Smith in 10B had had a diarrhea explosion, so she had to clean that up while he berated her for not getting him to the commode fast enough.  Then, Ms. Jones in 4A had been extremely uncooperative when Sara tried to get her out of bed, calling her several unrepeatable expletives and threatening to complain to the higher-ups before Sara gave up and left the room.  Now, it was 9:00 and Sara was already at wit's end.  On top of that, she had a pediatrics test tomorrow that she was not ready for at all. 

She laid her head on the table and closed her eyes, hoping for a few seconds of peace.  The beeping of the telemetry monitors lulled her and her mind began to wander.  _Why am I doing this?_ she thought, numbly tracing swirls on the table with her finger.  _Why do I put myself through this torture?  If this is what it's going to be like when I'm actually a nurse, then I should just give up now.  I should just drop out of nursing school now and become a hobo.  I should just-_ Suddenly, a loud clattering from nearby jolted Sara out of her stupor before an F-bomb echoed across the entire floor for all to hear.  She closed her eyes.  _Please don't let it be my patient.  Please don't let it be my patient._ Sara prayed.  As if on cue, the call light to room 11 lit up.  Sara looked down at her list.  Yup, it was her patient.  She quietly groaned, then she snatched up her list and pen and began to head towards the room. 

From what it sounded like, a patient must have dropped something and was too weak or immobile to get it themselves.  Naturally, this would make them seriously pissed off and look for someone to take their frustrations out on.  And who would have to take the full brunt of that frustration?  _Me._ Sara thought grimly as she knocked on the door and peeked her head in.

"Hello?" she called before entering the room.  An elderly man was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, a sour look on his face.  Sara deflated a little.  She had heard about him.  Once an independent man, an accident had robbed him of the use of his legs.  Now, he was bitter, having formed a fearsome reputation with the staff for being impatient, crude, and just downright unfriendly. 

Sara pressed her lips together.  Then again, it seemed that no one was in a friendly mood today.  Not the patients, who had nothing but bitter words and complaints for her.  Not the nurses, who seemed to take joy in piling on her workload and shooting her condescending looks.  Especially not the nursing manager, who would no doubt scold her for being so late with AM care while Sean watched with a smug look on his face.  Nevertheless, Sara squared her shoulders and straightened up. 

"What seems to be the trouble, sir?" she asked politely. 

The old man curled his lips up in a sneer.  "What are you, blind?" he snapped.  He pointed at the spilled breakfast tray on the floor.  "Pick that up!" 

"Of course, Mister -" Sara took a quick glance behind her at his patient board.  "-Mr. Stephenson."  She plucked out a set of gloves from the glove compartment near the bed.  Then, she knelt down and started to clean up the spilled oatmeal. 

"I take it you didn't like your breakfast, Mr. Stephenson." Sara said in an attempt to be lighthearted.  But he wasn't having any of it. 

"Bah!" he spat.  "The food here is disgusting!  Whoever is down there in that kitchen should be fired!  Hell, my dog could crap out better shit than the stuff I've been eating here!" 

Sara tried not to flinch at his harshness.  Instead, she focused on shoveling more oatmeal onto the tray.  When she finished, she placed the sloppy tray next to the sink and discarded her gloves.  _He is my patient._ she thought as she slid on a new pair.  _I might as well start bed baths with him._

"While I'm here, Mr. Stephenson, may I help you get ready for the day?" 

Another sneer.  "Well, I might as well, though I'm just gonna be stuck in this goddamn bed all day!" he growled as he began to shrug off his hospital gown. 

Sara quickly drew the curtains for privacy, then grabbed his hygienic supplies from the bathroom, which had already been so graciously laid out neatly in a wash tub. 

"How about going off the floor for a little bit and enjoying some fresh air?  It's a gorgeous day." Sara said, laying out the supplies on the side table in front of him.  Indeed, sunlight streamed through the big window, illuminating the blue sky above and the cityscape below. 

"How can I enjoy the day when I'm surrounded by snobby doctors and financial vultures who just want to rob me out of my hard earned cash?" he griped, paying no attention to the scenery.  

"Well, what makes you say that, Mr. Stephenson?" 

With those words, the dam broke.  On and on, he ranted about everything; the doctors, the nurses, the food, the fact that he wouldn't be able to walk normally again.  He even made a few gripes about her, though it was only to point out how the water was too hot or she was going too slow.  Sara remained silent, but attentive as she washed him.  The only input she gave was a nod and the occasional "I see".  As she worked, his ranting grew quieter and quieter until he wasn't saying much at all.  Soon, she was finished and he was ready for the day.  After Sara cleaned everything up and made sure that his call button was in reach, she left the room.  She couldn't help but notice how pensive the old man looked as he stared out the window.  It was hard to believe that he was the same man who had been ranting and raving earlier.  _But no matter,_ Sara thought as she walked down the hall. _Time for the next task._

For the rest of the day, Sara worked like she was on autopilot.  She cleaned.  She wiped.  She monitored.  She recorded.  She documented.  After what seemed like an eternity, Sara's shift was done and she was free.  But just as she was about to swipe out, another call lit up, Room 11.  Perplexed, Sara began to head over.  She had thought that Mr. Stephenson might want something else throughout the day (even if it was just to yell at her again).  However, no one had called out of that room until now.  She knocked and peeked inside. 

"Mr. Stephenson?" she called. 

To her surprise, there was no sneer or sour look on his face.  On the contrary, he looked ashamed, twiddling his thumbs and training his gaze downward.  A moment of uncomfortable silence passed by, then he cleared his throat. 

"I-uh-I don't seem to recall your name." he murmured, his blush a dark shade of red against his pale skin. 

"Sara." she replied. 

"Sara...a beautiful name," he whispered.  Another beat of silence. 

Sara shifted uncomfortably.  "If you don't need anything, Mr. Stephenson-" 

"Wait!" he exclaimed, reaching for her.  Sara jumped in surprise as he grabbed her hand, but his touch was warm and gentle, so she didn't pull back.  He took a deep breath, then spoke.  "Sara, I treated you atrociously today and I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."  He licked his lips.  "And I know I can be impatient and crude and just downright unfriendly, but I'm so grateful.  So grateful that you were willing to listen to a bitter, old man like me.  So...thank you."  His voice broke on the last words and tears began to spill down his wrinkled cheeks.  

Sara stood in shocked silence.  She could hardly believe that this man, the scourge of the floor, was thanking her in tears.  She patted his hand.  "You're welcome," she replied softly. 

He smiled back, tears still trailing down his face.  "Well," he sniffled, releasing her hand.  "It's getting late and I know that you want to go home, but before you leave, I wanted to give you something."  He gestured towards the bedside table.  "It's in the top drawer." 

Sara walked over and opened it.  Inside was a little origami flower folded out of a napkin.  "Do you like it?" he asked, practically beaming.  "Even if my legs won't be the same, I can still use my hands." 

Sara cradled the little flower in her hands.  "Thank you, Mr. Stephenson."  She walked back to him and patted his hand.  "I'll see you tomorrow," she said before walking out the door.  As she headed out, Sara started thinking about the day she had; the disasters, the bitter words, and at the very end, a single act of gratitude.  What had she'd been thinking earlier?  Why was she doing this?  She smiled as she headed to the elevator, clutching the tiny paper flower in her hand.  

 _Oh yeah._ Sara thought as she pictured Mr. Stephenson's smile in her mind. _That was why._  

**Author's Note:**

> Another short story. This one was inspired by me and my friends' experiences working as nursing aides on various hospital floors. The hecticness is very real, but it's just as rewarding at the end of the day.


End file.
